In which Jam becomes the enemy of the state
by x-Trisana-Skystorm-x
Summary: John has a bad day, completely Sherlock's doing because he's a prat like that. And John really is sick of Jam. Complete and total crack.


Crack, through and through crack stemming from a joke with interstella.

_**Word Count;** 700 (I have no idea how...)_

_**Warnings**; Jam_

_**Disclaimer**; I don't own Sherlock. If I did then this would have been canon. Just kidding. But no seriously, maybe._

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In which Jam becomes the enemy of the state.

John stared at the table with an intense look, his pupils blown wide. His breath came in harsh pants as Sherlock watched him. His eyes lay glued to the rise and fall of John's chest, a focus of his own keeping the cycle going. John huffed and muttered to himself with a tone slightly below the level of human audibility.

Sherlock paid it more attention than seemed logical (but then one had to face that the logic any other person would see was completely wrong, and really the truth of the matter was quite transparent if one cared to see it) and so the morning went.

For hours neither party said a word. Many would have said it was the longest stretch of time that Sherlock had ever been able to sit still without a case on his mind. He wasn't muttering under his own breath or demanding a cure from John for his boredom in a tone that would drive even hardened covert agents to tell their secrets in a bid to get away from him.

And John, well he was just sitting there, still, his chest rising and falling. His eyes still staring at something and nothing, the pupils blown so wide the colour of his eyes were no longer visible. (A funny bluey kind of colour for those in the know).

Sherlock removed his eyes for a moment to scribble something on a piece of paper, the scratching and scribbling sound a thousand times too loud in John's ears. Sherlock looked up in time to note the wincing tic in the skin of John's eye. _Interesting,_ Sherlock noted and then left his hand to scribble and scratch again torturing John some more.

Finally after hours of sitting and waiting for the climactic culmination, one Sherlock had been starting to worry he wouldn't get, John sprung in to action. Leaping to his feet he kicked the chair he'd spent all day sitting in over letting it land with a crash. Sherlock took more notes.

John gripped the table he'd been sitting at with a dark look on his face. "I've had it with this god damn jam! I can't take it anymore" he yelled, hurling the (empty) table on its side and panting audibly.

A blond head turned to regard Sherlock, a furious look on his face. Sherlock took more notes. "Arrrrgh," John screamed and stored out whilst Sherlock mused over how many r's there in Argh. He glanced at the fallen table and then took more notes. He had to wonder where the jam came from, it required further inspection.

Stage 3 – a success. Experiment complete.

John hit the sidewalk of the street with a frankly murderous look on his face. He was so angry that he barely noticed when all the camera's in the street turned to look at him simultaneously. He did notice however when he was being hauled into a car with "Anthea" sitting in it.

The muttering started up again, however the other passenger in the car paid it little attention. Not her division. When the car pulled up and he was forced out of the vehicle and into the waiting presence of Mycroft Holmes the muttering got more pronounced. The jovial man poured two cups of tea, handing one to the nearly frothing at the mouth John before pulling out scones.

Bluey eyes stared at the cup in his hand for a moment before focusing on the scone in Mycroft's hand. "Jam, John?" Mycroft asked picking up a knife to slather the condiment with.

"Arrrrrgh!" screamed John with burning rage. The tea cup dropped from his hand, shattering on the floor and leaking the hot beverage everywhere. Reaching out John gripped the table that held the tea pot, because Mycroft was a nancy boy who only drank tea from a china pot, and flipped it sending the objects on top hurtling about the room.

"Jam!" John yelled panting heavily and running away to rampage around the town of London. No jars of jam would be safe that day.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, his hands steepling to his head wearily.

Sherlock took more notes.

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Right, thoughts? Because I have no idea what that was...xP Also sorry Rewind people. I'm slowly working on it. Angeal is evil.


End file.
